


Mask of Sorrow

by AliceMontrose



Series: Mask of Sorrow [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMontrose/pseuds/AliceMontrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his country is invaded and his family killed, Prince Demian of Callas is forced to flee across the sea to Iilis, searching sanctuary and a new life. But will he manage to win the trust and love of King Thalos' older son?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mask of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This story is really old, and is to be considered ON HOLD for the forseeable future. Please do not ask me when or if it will be continued. I do not know if it will ever be finished.
> 
> Updated: September 2004

What does it take for your life to change radically? Just a tip of the balance, and all you ever held true can be swept away and replaced by a desolate calm. Just one throw of the dice, and you are forced into an entirely new existence without even having asked for it. The sand of the hourglass still flows, but will it bury you underneath its tremendous weight or help you break free? 

My home was taken away from me, my family ruthlessly slaughtered. I have watched my parents being murdered by people they trusted, my sister falling from a high balcony taking two of her pursuers with her. I have watched the white marble of the corridors turn dark red from caked blood, and I have waited to follow my family into the grave. 

Alas, it was not to be. For even as I struggled they were dragging me away. Faithful friends, trying to save the last of my family and the long-gone glory of ages past. Servants carrying me away to safety and then on a ship, asking that I would one day return to claim what was mine. I was too numb to care, until reality struck me on the eve of the third day at sea; and then I mourned for what was lost, and swore I would never make the mistake to trust again. 

I was angry with my friends though they meant well and followed me in exile. Angry at my family for having left me like they had, at their murderers and at those who had craved the destruction of my homeland. I swore to destroy them as they had destroyed me. 

Ten years have gone since then, and I have returned home to make my country greater than it has been before. For how was I to know back then about the help I would receive, about the forgotten friends I would regain, and above all about the one person that would win my heart? How could I have expected to find all this in exile, and still have him at my side when I returned home? 

I am King Demian of Callas, and this is the story of my life in Iilis, and later during the war with my hated enemy, Queen Spectralia of Seisha. This is the story of my new life, and my new hope. And also, of my love for a most wonderful man who has changed me beyond words, the story of his victory over his fears and his decision to save us all. 

* * *

**Mask of Sorrow**  
Arc One - Newfound Love

* * *

The ship arrived in Moreea on a gloomy autumn afternoon, carrying me, my two friends Franco and Justin, as well as a couple of other wealthy refugees from Callas. My father, having somehow anticipated the disastrous result of the war between Callas and Seisha, had shipped half the treasury to be kept safely by his friend and ally King Thalos of Iilis, so at least we were not arriving as poor exiles in disgrace. Still, we were expecting no warm welcome in this southern land, in spite of Iiliani hospitality being well renown. 

Still, our reception was far more pleasant then we had expected. In spite of the horrid weather and almost-rain that would have kept most people in-doors, expecting us was none other than The Prince Heir of Iilis and a small train of noblemen from Court. 

I had met King Thalos' second son, Alexander, about ten years before; he had come to visit my family with an Iiliani delegation and we had spent a summer of follies and adventure together. Since then, word had come that he had become heir to the throne, although under what circumstances I did not know. 

Now he was expecting us, the crazy 11-year-old I had known barely recognizable in the serious young man with dark blonde hair and blue-green eyes who studied us all from the back of his horse before smiling and dismounting. 

"Demian, my friend," he said opening his arms in greeting, "it is nice to see you again after all this time, even if it is under such dire circumstances." 

I nodded and accepted his swift embrace, hoping that grief had wiped away any tears I might have shed at any mention of my family. 

Our travel to the palace was short and spent mostly in silence; dark thoughts seemed to suit the rainy weather. I had been told that Iilis was an exotically beautiful land, but the grey sky had turned the capital into a grim city that day. 

The palace was not much different from the one in Minois on the outside, and perhaps a little more lavish on the inside. Southern lands were like that, placing more importance on aspect than on essence, although of them Iilis was the one most open to other cultures. King Thalos' rule was one of change and renewal, of changing age-old customs that had trapped his land in the past while the world was evolving. In accordance, he had kept his harem but had also married a woman from the faraway north. His younger son seemed to have inherited some features from both parents; his build was that of Iiliani men but his fairer features and eyes must have come from his foreign mother. 

Our small party was led toward the throne hall, where we were received with all the pomp reserved to foreign dignitaries. The king, whom I had also met a few years before, looked a bit older but still sharp. The official ceremony was short but meaningful, and we received assurances that Iilis would offer us all the help it could give against our common enemy. There was already talk of a campaign to reconquer Callas and defeat Seisha, but I had yet no idea how true these rumours were. 

The private meeting I had with the king and Alexander proved to me it was all true. The king received me in private a few minutes after the festivities in the main hall were over, and insisted on shaking my hand. 

"I am sorry about your father," he told me, a hint of emotion in his usually serious voice. "Had we only known that queen Spectralia was planning to attack you beforehand... but we'll get you your country back yet." Next to him, Alexander nodded solemnly. 

"Thank you for granting me and my countrymen your hospitality, your majesty," I replied with a polite nod. "All I can do is wish is that this had not happened, and that my visit would have been under more pleasant circumstances. And I will do whatever I can to help you organize this army I keep hearing about" 

"Your presence here is welcome, as is your desire to get involved," the king assured me. "I trust that, despite all, your stay will be a pleasant one. My son Alexander has been most anxious to see you again. I hope you two will become good friends. Alexander," he said, turning to his son, "you shall show Prince Demian to his rooms now, and make sure he has anything he wishes for." 

"Yes father," the Iiliani prince answered and motioned for me to follow him, sharing an amused smirk with me when we were out of the king's sight. 

* * *

It wasn't long before I grew accustomed to Court life in Moreea. It was not that different from my life as Prince of Callas, only perhaps a little more varied because of the exotic views I was presented with each day. But the banquets, the diners, the diplomats were all there. People were fare more careless than in Callas, and friends were easily made. The detail I was not Iiliani was just another fact in a row to them. 

Two things puzzled me, though. 

The first was that Prince Alexander was heir to the throne, in spite of the fact he was King Thalos' second born and that his brother still lived. However, I knew very little about Prince Andrys, and all of those facts I had found out involuntarily. Apparently, the older prince fancied himself as some kind of artist, although nobody had seen his works thus far. 

My friend Eloise, true to her training as a diplomat, had somehow discovered the fact that, following a certain accident eight years ago, Andrys had lived almost secluded from the world. People had been reluctant to say more about that 'accident', for fear of the king's wrath. It seemed to be common knowledge that King Thalos and Prince Alexander would become excessively protective when Andrys was concerned. As for the man himself, he was rarely seen about the palace grounds although it was a certain fact he still lived there. 

Naturally, I wanted to ask Alexander about it. However, one evening I was witness to an incident that made me realize it would not be a very good idea. A merchant from across the seas, whom it was said had last come to Iilis ten years ago, and whom was in great favour with the king, had asked Alexander about his brother's health during a diner King Thalos was not attending (fortunately, people had said afterwards). At this, Alexander had turned pale, and in a voice so cold for his usual self told the man that, unless he wanted to be one head shorter, he should mind his own business, and he had left the hall soon after. The whole incident ensued in a series of gossip around the nobles and servants of the palace, ended promptly by the king himself, who said Prince Andrys was well and much too absorbed in his art to care about anything else at the moment. The merchant was forgiven, apparently after Andrys himself had spoken to his father - although I was not entirely sure how he could have found out about it, if he never left his rooms. 

All this secrecy surrounding the older prince would have been enough to occupy my mind for a while, had there not been another thing that bothered me even more. 

Soon after I had received my commission in the Army and I could properly attend Court events, I noticed someone was spying on me. Well, not me specifically, but rather the whole congregation I was part of. This mysterious person, who at first had been a shadow hiding behind a panel or a curtain, gradually began to transform into a young man, as his curiosity apparently grew. I would only see flashes of him during feasts, usually in the evening when he could use darkness to his advantage. 

Several times, I caught glimpses of long yellow hair, which led me to believe the youth was either as foreign as I was, or of foreign background, for the Iiliani all had darker skin and features. As winter came and advanced, though, my sightings of this strange observer grew rarer, until one whole month passed without seeing him. 

Franco had laughed at my confessions, and Eloise muttered silently that it could have been a ghost, because I thought I had seen white clothing. Alexander had been rather shocked, and had had the palace searched, but had found nothing. Finally, we blamed it all on my imagination, and I began to forget all about the blond ghost. 

However, things did not stay that way for long. One evening in late winter, during one of those tedious affairs banquets can be, I accidentally noticed movement behind a curtain in an almost-dark corner of the hall. Thinking it might be some kind of spy or assassin, I made it my business to pay attention to the shadows without being too obvious about it. And it was not long before the shadows shifted and I saw the blond hair again, and flashes of white skin where the lamplight penetrated the darkness. My hand had tightened on my knife - it was doubtlessly my old acquaintance again. 

Only this time, I had not been the only one to notice him. Seeing that he had raised a hand in greeting, my eyes quickly flew across the room to see Alexander, of all people, discretely waving his way. When my eyes returned on the blond, however, he was no longer looking at the prince but rather at _me_. I was fixed in my chair by a pair of icy blue eyes, which seemed to study me briefly before their owner stepped back into the shadows, and disappeared completely. 

Uncertain of what had just happened, I excused myself from my table and went outside to settle my thoughts. I had no doubts it was the same man I had seen before, or that, whoever this youth was, Alexander knew him. 

I took the path around the palace walls, my mind swarming with questions and possible answers. If he was not a spy why would he keep into the shadows? Exactly how much did my Iiliani friend know and did not wish to reveal? Was it possible the blond was an assassin from Seisha, sent to kill me? If so, when would he act and did he have King Thalos' approval? 

By the time I had almost circled the palace grounds half an hour had passed, and I was also aware someone was following me. My mystery man, I thought and kept walking, not willing to make him aware I had felt his presence. 

He was almost deadly quiet; if not for some faint rustle of rubble on the path I would have not been able to hear him. I went around the corner and made my way back toward the porch that opened outside the banquet hall, my mind set on solving this problem once and for all. I plastered myself to a tree, ready to leap at the right moment. 

Soon, my shadow appeared from behind the corner, dressed in flowing robes, appearing lavender in the faint light. It was unusual for a spy to wear something like this - not only did they make one visible, but they hindered one's movements as well. Then who was this man? 

One careful step, then another. I jumped at the figure, tightening my arms around the white-wrapped body from behind. 

My captive trashed around wildly trying to escape, but I held on tight. Finally he stilled, so I relaxed his hold a little. It was enough to receive an elbow in my stomach and make me lose my grip. The man pulled away as if burned and spun around to face this sudden adversary. But he had stepped in the light coming from one of the palace windows, which exposed him to my gaze. 

Why, he was younger than I had thought! His features were even, and he possessed a sort of beauty that had me entranced by the time I managed to take in the whole of him. He was lean and at least two hand-spans shorter than I, but in spite of the lack of bulky muscles there was noting that I could call feminine in his build. There was also a vaguely familiar air about him, which I could not place. 

Pale eyes fixed me in terror behind a wild fall of hair, as the youth breathed heavily. As I took one step forward he drew back, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. It was genuine fear in his eyes, mixed with a sort of fascination that prevented him to move further than a few steps. He looked so innocent, that my previous suspicions about him flew away instantly. He was no assassin or spy, but merely a young man too shy to socialize with other people. However, I could not figure out his position. 

"What is your name?" I asked, causing the eyes to focus on me. The youth drew back a step, his body trembling visibly. I tried my best not to look menacing as I tried to approach him. "Why were you following me?" I asked softly. "Did anyone ask you to do so? Prince Alexander, perhaps?" 

The pale eyes widened at the mention of Alexander's name, and before I knew it the young man leaped away. I didn't even realize what had happened before catching a glimpse of long robes disappearing around the corner. 

I blinked several times, trying to decide what exactly had just happened. But just then, Franco called to me from the hall. I made my way back inside the palace, not quite sure what to make of this all. 

I did not mention the event to anyone. 

* * *

After that night, I lost sight of my blonde watcher for a couple of weeks, but only to find him there again. I would have thought he had been put off by being discovered, but I had no such luck. Moreover, now more than ever he kept watching me whenever he could, although he kept his distance and never followed me again. But his eyes in my back, especially during councils, were rather unsettling. 

Yet something prevented me from asking Alexander who the blond was. 

In the meantime, Franco was doing some research on his own, without my personal knowledge. One night, I was startled by the insistent knocking at my door. And there he was, my captain, a huge grin on his face, bursting into my room as soon as I opened the door. 

"You won't believe what I found out!" he burst as soon as I had closed the door, and threw himself in an armchair smiling victoriously as he ran a hand through his light brown hair. 

"Franco, you can't know that unless you tell me first," I replied, not quite sure how to interpret such an outburst from him. Franco was the silent and analytical type, son of an assassin and with some little crimes of his own. But he was perhaps the best guard my father had ever had. Franco could walk, unheard and unseen, in a room full of people, and find out what he wanted to know without too much trouble on his behalf. In fact, the only reason I hadn't ordered him to find out the identity of my mysterious stalker was because the poor man had seemed so frightened by me that night in the garden. And besides, if Alexander knew him and thought he did or meant no harm... 

As it was, I sat down across from Franco, and urged him to tell me whatever it was that had gotten him so excited. 

"I finally managed to piece together enough information to quench your curiosity about Prince Andrys," the dark-skinned mercenary grinned again, capturing my curiosity instantly. "I've been asking around, discreetly of course, and apparently now all he cares about is his art. 

"But it was not always so. They say that, up to eight years ago, there was no doubt he would be king. However, he had some sort of accident while returning from a trip and was almost killed. Unfortunately, I couldn't find out exactly what happened, but it seems he never fully recovered and he insisted that his brother inherited the crown in his stead." 

I frowned. "And King Thalos agreed? Hmm... very strange. It must have been something really serious, then. So now he's some sort of an artist?" 

Franco nodded. "A sculptor, apparently; although I know for sure nobody saw any of his statues, except perhaps his father and his brother. He must be really bad, if he doesn't show them around." 

"Or eccentric," I couldn't keep adding. "What do we know of him, otherwise? He was good at strategy, I heard." 

"Strategy, riding, swordplay... all that had to do with war. One of the men I asked said it was a waste of a good fighter, keeping him locked in his rooms like they do. But another said he keeps _himself_ locked in his rooms. He has acquired some sort of phobia of being around people." 

So naturally, I _had_ to try and meet Prince Andrys. The following morning I paid my friend Alexander a visit, whose sole purpose was to inquire if that were possible. Well past polite greetings and into a game of chess he dragged me in, I said, "Alexander, I have a _very big_ favour to ask of you!" 

The Iiliani prince looked up from the game table. "What would it be this time, my friend?" 

I laughed nervously. "I was wondering... would it be too presumptuous of me to ask you to arrange a meeting with your brother? I hear all sorts of things about him, but I have never had the privilege to meet him in person." 

Alexander's expression darkened. He shook his head firmly. "No, Demian. I am afraid it is absolutely impossible." 

"But why?" 

"Please, do not ask this. It is difficult enough as it is. Andrys does not wish to see or meet anyone, if it can be avoided." 

I wanted to make light of his words, but something in his expression stopped me. There was a deep wound that ran through my friend when he spoke. I sensed a great secret before me, a secret nobody spoke of for fear of the king. 

"Never mind, Alexander. I do not wish to ruin our friendship." 

The prince nodded, deep in thought. "I shall tell him you asked, Demian. I do not know how he will react to it, but I shall tell him anyway. That is all I can do for you." 

"Thank you, Alexander." 

* * *

It was at the banquet held for King Thalos' 50th birthday that the bad luck which had been following me since Minois' fall seemed to change radically. 

At first, it seemed to be yet another typical diner with dull diplomats, faded courtiers and a surprising lack of women in attendance. Most of the people of Iilis still held the outdated belief that women were inferior to men, although things were rapidly going on a more liberal route. My own mother, daughter of an Iiliani noble, had been one of the first 'reformed' women in the land. Still, it was rather awkward for women to attend social events - something that didn't bother my friend Justine, who went at every such event she was invited to and even some where she wasn't. 

I was truly thankful for her and Franco's presence at this particular one. 'The foreigners' - us Callans and a couple of ambassadors and special envoys - had all been seated at a table close to the king's, and my two friends were always a welcome break from the endless curiosity and boring company of the people I'd just been introduced to. 

I was therefore not very content at being there, but my presence was necessary... and I'd also hoped I would finally meet Alexander's brother, Prince Andrys. 

True enough, everybody in attendance that evening had received, at a previous date, a warning that the elder prince just _might_ decide to grace us with his presence, and an accompanying 2-pages long set of rules of conduct to be followed if he did show up. My copy had ended up in the fire after I'd gone through it once; a major bunch of crap I had yet to encounter. What King Thalos was trying to gain was his son's security, but it came in the form of complete isolation and social suicide. 

Still, if abiding those rules resulted in me finally meeting the elusive prince, it wouldn't have been half-bad. 

I wondered if my skittish "ghost" had received a copy of those rules, for he surely wouldn't have needed it. 

Two hours into the evening, everybody had given up hope Prince Andrys would come. It was bound that, at this point, his arrival would have been the centre of attention. Still, few managed to sight the white-clad appearance that skipped through the hall under the safe darkness of the colonnades. I only noticed it because I'd been expecting "the ghost" to come that evening. 

However, I'd not expected him in the company of five royal guards. 

I forgot the conversation I'd been having with a southern diplomat. This revealed mystery required contemplation. Seeing him in a properly-lit environment for the first time, breathtakingly beautiful and clad in traditional white Iiliani clothing but without the obligatory turban on his head, gave birth to two previously unforeseen developments. 

The first was that my two main obsessions, 'the ghost' and the king's mysterious elder son, were one and the same, a pale and blinding northern sun. 

Also, it was at that moment that I fell in love with him. Madly and undeniably. I just _knew_ I would be spending the rest of my life with him and there could be nobody else. 

I swore to myself I would gain at least his friendship if not his love. That I would try and help him out of his shell and back into the world, for someone such as he did not deserve to be hidden and forgotten. 

Of course, there would be quite a few obstacles to overcome, like meeting him personally and having to break almost every damned rule his father had listed. And probably a few others besides those... but I _knew_ I could do it, with patience and a bit of luck. Besides, I wasn't one to give up easily. 

In the meantime, he had reached the king's table and gracefully sat down in the place that had been reserved for him, between his father and his brother. He whispered a few words to King Thalos, squeezed Alexander's hand for a second, and turned his attention to his lap, or more precisely to his own hands resting there. Shadowed by platinum blond hair, his face was unreadable to anyone in the room 

He seemed strangely subdued, for a prince, or perhaps he was uncomfortable with being the centre of attention. I recalled his skittishness and the fright in those pale blue eyes as I had spoken to him. He had run away then, but he did not have that possibility of escape now. And, little by little, people started noticing his presence and turn curious eyes in his direction; some discretely, some blatantly obvious... but everyone was staring, one way or another. I knew it had to be extremely unpleasant for him. 

The truth was, the whole event had now become increasingly interesting for me. Or, rather, not the event itself but Andrys, Andrys, who had now started nibbling on his food, eyes still downcast. 

The hand pinning my shoulder and Alexander's voice shattered through my daydreaming. "Demian, you look a little too interested in my brother. Perhaps you should stop staring and start eating." 

Startled, I glanced behind me at my friend - whom I hadn't even seen leave his place - and realized I'd forgotten this little but essential detail: my best friend was my love interest's protective younger brother. 

'Just my typical luck,' I pondered and cleared my throat. "Alexander, _everybody_ is staring at your brother tonight. And I wanted to meet him for months, _remember_?" 

Next to me, Justine sighed wistfully. "Oh, he is absolutely _gorgeous_! There should be a law against men looking like that, I tell you," she told the Iiliani prince, who was still leaning over my shoulder to look at us. 

"Oh please," Franco grunted. "He looks like a woman! What can you possibly see in him?" 

"Now, now, Franco, don't be rude," she replied, waving her hand at Alexander as if he should not take offence. "Not all women like a pack of muscles and sweat home for dinner. Some of us prefer our men more aesthetically pleasing. Having an artist as a lover is many women's ideal, you know. Artists are so... romantic." She batted her lashes at us, and shot Franco an evil look. "And I personally prefer men with long hair." 

Thankfully I was not eating or drinking at the time, for surely I would have choked. Justine's old lovers had all two things in common: they were bulky and had short hair. _All_ of them. 

"I call that 'the Andrys effect'," Alexander whispered to me as Justine and Franco engaged in a discussion about the merits of artists and long hair. "There is nobody who can resist him. Do you still want to meet him?" 

I nodded, and prayed my friend would find a way to do that. 

"I'll have to ask," the Iiliani Prince Heir informed me. "I can't promise you anything, Demian." 

"Go ask," I replied, glancing at Andrys again. He was sipping red wine from a crystal goblet, the embodiment of perfection. 

Alexander went back to his place, but did not ask right away. He instead waited for Andrys' attention to shift to him first, and then bowed his head and murmured something in his brother's ear. The older prince stiffened, and he turned wide eyes in my direction; I, of course, had been watching, and offered a little nod and a smile. 

A pale hand gripped Alexander's arm and Andrys closed his eyes, swaying a bit. I went pale instantly, but there seemed to be no reason to worry for my blond angel quickly regained his composure. He turned his head and told Alexander his answer. Alexander turned a surprised face my way and gave me a short nod to indicate his brother had agreed. 

I felt like crying out from the sheer happiness of it. I knew I was acting stupid, like a love-sick puppy to be more precise. But there was no denying the small victory I had gained. By being formally introduced to Andrys, then I would also gain permission to talk to him whenever we met and without need to ask for permission or wait for him to address me first. 

Waiting for the banquet to end was sheer torture, although it was less than half an hour until king Thalos rose, thanked us for our presence there and bid everybody good night. It was a few moments after his departure that Alexander came toward us, his impossibly shy brother in tow. 

"Andrys, these are my friends from Callas: Demian, Franco and Justine. Prince Demian is the one who asked to meet you, remember?" 

Azure eyes studied me for a second before nodding a small greeting at us. Andrys bit his lip and twined his fingers with his brother's as if to gain some courage before speaking. "It is a pleasure to meet you." His words were passive, an automatic reply forced to his lips by heavy-drilled courtly manners. 

"The pleasure is all ours, Prince Andrys," I replied, holding up my hand. 

The beautiful prince drew back once more, refusing the contact. His right hand rose to take hold of Alexander's arm, a quick flash of fear crossing his face. 

All those present turned their faces to me, for hand had not yet been lowered. Angry whispers came my way - "Such presumptuousness!" "Who does he think he is?" "He dares!" I looked at them boldly, but lowered my hand at last. 

Surprisingly, it was Andrys who saved me the embarrassment. Letting go of his brother, he stepped forward for the first time that evening, gracing me with a shy smile. "Thank you for your interest, Prince Demian," he said warmly, and circling around me at a safe distance he made his way to the door, avoiding everyone that he considered dangerous. 

Alexander brushed past us as well, shooting us an apologizing look as he went after his brother. 

* * *

With spring there, Alexander had asked me earlier that morning to join him for a walk through the Inner Garden, from where we would afterwards go for a ride on the palace grounds. The Iiliani prince had not arrived yet, but as I stood there waiting I soon noticed I was not the only visitor. A person I had expected least of all was there, and he was coming my way! 

He was wearing his customary white robes and was guarded from a distance by an older, stronger man I had seen before, though only in passing. I expected the man was his personal bodyguard. 

Oh, but that long hair shone brilliantly in the warm afternoon sun! He turned and touched one pale finger to a crimson bloom, his eyes meeting mine over the bed of flowers separating us. 

"It is a marvel, isn't it?" he asked dreamily, oblivious to the threatening glances I was exchanging with the bodyguard. He caressed the bloom before pulling out a small dagger from out of nowhere and carefully removing the stem from the bush. He pressed his cheek against the velvet petals, inhaling the sweet perfume. A melancholic smile graced the fine face. 

I was not very sure how to reply to this. I had the sudden urge to tell Andrys the rose paled compared to him, but that sounded like something one would say to a maiden, not a young man. I settled for something which seemed neutral enough. "It is beautiful, Your Grace." 

The smile grew. "All flowers are. But it is not what I meant." 

"Is he bothering you, my liege?" the bodyguard asked, suddenly only a few steps away. 

"No, Francis. You may go." 

The man bowed and returned to his previous post, frowning menacingly at me - the intruder - but keeping his tongue. Andrys chuckled at this, and I found myself fascinated by the sound. 

"What _did_ you mean, Prince Andrys?" I asked, alarmed as the prince deliberately pressed his thumb against a thorn and let a drop of blood fall on another bloom. 

"Beautiful yet dangerous... roses are such a perfect paradox of humanity." 

"But flowers have no awareness, and no conscience," I remarked. 

"A conscience?" This time I was graced with more than a brief study. I found I was blushing slightly at the intense gaze I was receiving. But Andrys lowered his eyes, and nodded. "Yes, I keep forgetting that some people actually _have_ one. You should not judge my family because of what happened to me. It was my choice, after all." He was saddened, but suddenly held the rose up in front of me. "A gift for you." I reached out to take it, and our hands brushed for a brief moment. 

Andrys then turned and left without further words, followed closely by his shadow. I might have thought this had been a dream, were it not for the flower in my hand and a drop of crimson on a bed of stark white petals. 

"Amazing," Alexander's voice came from behind me. "I would not have believed it, had I not seen it with my own eyes." 

I felt my friend's hand on my shoulder, the pressure he applied asking me to face him. "You told him what I said about your father, didn't you?" I asked, suspecting they shared secrets more than often. 

"I saw fit to mention it. You know, he is more astute than one might think. I, for example, have not anticipated that he would be here today. I would have come earlier, had I known. But he chose this moment deliberately, didn't he?" 

I had not expected that. "You think he did this on purpose?" 

Alexander's eyes filled with humour. "My brother is the type who calculates his every move. I am certain today is no exception. All that remains to be seen is why. Did you know he has not talked to an unfamiliar person in over two years? And suddenly he decides to speak to you in particular, and at the banquet no less. You heard the gossip it caused!" 

I had. I had been the talk of the palace for two weeks. Even the king had been surprised at the event, and the two of us had had a serious discussion one evening. King Thalos had actually forbidden me to get anywhere near his older son; and there I was, one month later, having done precisely that! I could only wonder what had determined a secluded young man like Prince Andrys to allow this. And had he forgiven me for that long-ago night in the park? 

"Am I to expect a reprimand from your father?" I asked Alexander. I was not in the position to upset the King of Iilis. 

"Oh, I doubt it. Andrys usually gets his way with everything. My father has a weakness for him; so do I. Still, I think you should stay out of father's way for a day or two, just to be safe." 

I agreed. It was the best thing to do. "Why do you think he spoke to me, Alexander?" 

"I think that he sees something in you he does not see in others. I wonder what that is..." 

* * *

Two days later I received a most unexpected invitation, and from the king himself. We were all discussing battle strategies in the War Room, and the next moment King Thalos took me and Alexander aside and told us that Andrys wanted us both to go visit him in his gallery. We did not bother to hide our surprise, mainly because I would be the first person other than the members of the royal family to see Andrys' works. 

So the following morning I was led down a vast corridor by Alexander, both of us dressed in our best attire and a little nervous, although for entirely different reasons. Alexander had warned me that his brother's art was very different from what was the custom in both Iilis and Callas, that I should not speak unless addressed first, and absolutely never try to shake hands again. I agreed, provided reluctantly, for I knew Andrys would not be comfortable with that. 

The same bodyguard that had accompanied the older prince of Iilis in his stroll through the Inner Garden waited for us in front of a large door that nobody would cross uninvited, under penalty of death. He still eyed me wearily, but that was it. The door was opened, and bolted after the three of us went through. 

The small corridor with draped windows opened into a large room with unadorned walls and an intricate mosaic covering the floor. There were no actual windows, but the roof was made of stained glass and sunlight streamed down in coloured rays. A circular piece of marble placed in the middle of the room acted as a table, complete with sitting cushions and loaded with food and drinks. 

But most amazing were the one dozen life-size statues that filled the space, each placed at an angle that allowed them to be bathed in the rainbow rays of light. 

There was no sign of our host anywhere as we entered. 

Alexander encouraged me to examine the sculptures, and sat down at the table, helping himself to some of the food. 

I began from the statue on my left and also the closest to the door, making my way around the room and studying each piece in turn. The style was unlike anything I had seen, so true to reality one might have expected the statues to come to life. The first two were most likely the first to be done, judging both from the technique and the subjects used: a small colt captured in gallop, and an adolescent Alexander in uniform. But as I moved on I could see the style advance as well, just as the models had gotten older. 

I realized there were only four human models. 

Third came a detailed bust of King Thalos, one of the two figures rendered in black marble. Then Alexander again, and a beautiful woman of middle age which I managed to recognize as Lady Eloise, the king's first concubine. This was a surprising revelation, but she was a very beautiful woman and there was no denying her forms were close to perfection. That was probably why she had been chosen. King Thalos again, this time together with his younger son, and a magnificent vase of roses, each petal sculpted with care. Alexander in uniform, ready to lead his troops into battle. Lady Eloise, this time crying - made from a pale pink quartz that made her tears look real. 

I was back at the door, and had to make my way towards the table to see the remaining four. First on the left, and the smallest so far, was a little sparrow lying dead on a stone. Opposite to it was the prince's bodyguard, in the most impressive rendering so far - that of a younger soldier holding the broken body of a young boy in his arms. I couldn't help wondering who the boy was. 

Next to this, a large panther roaring, the second piece in black marble. Where had Andrys seen a panther, I could not imagine. 

The last one was what looked like the most recent work. I was surprised to see Alexander's face rendered in marble in minute detail, captured in a restful sleep on a granite pillow. Before I knew it, my fingers followed the contours of the cold stone. I gasped and turned to Alexander, words escaping my mouth without realization. "This is magnificent! I have never seen anything like it." 

I was met by two pairs of eyes, not one. Andrys was holding his brother's hands in his own over the table, his hair loose on his shoulders, wearing no robes this time but a suit of clothes, in white of course and lined with gold thread. He looked like a marble angel himself, a sculpture brought to life before my eyes. 

Alexander seemed terrified, and I realized my sacrilege, speaking boldly and loud enough for my words to be carried around the room. What would the shy prince make of such an explosion of words, especially since he had never shown his work to any other than his family? 

Indeed, he retracted his hands and rested them in his lap, apparently not quite sure of what to say to such a heart-felt praise. He shifted on his pillow and tilted his head, blinking, almost-smiling again. "Thank you for coming, Prince Demian," he spoke softly. Biting his lip again, he gestured towards one of the cushions. "Please." 

As I sat cross-legged in the indicated spot, I found I was speechless. 

In the uncomfortable silence, Alexander forced himself to laugh. "Demian, stop staring at my brother. You embarrass him!" 

"You are a magician!" I exclaimed unable to hold it back, not understanding Alexander's sudden panicked look. 

Prince Andrys blushed violently, closed his eyes tight, and bowed his head so that his hair hid his face. His shoulders began trembling and a slight whimper was heard. But just as Alexander lounged over, afraid that his brother might be crying, the blond head shot back and we were favoured with a violent laughter that sent poor Andrys splayed on his back on the pillows, one hand over his mouth trying to stifle the sounds as the other was thrown carelessly over his head. Alexander and I exchanged confused looks, but it did not take us long to join in. Andrys' laughter was intoxicating, shaking his whole body as tears began streaming down his face. 

When we all finally managed to recover the slightest semblance of respectability, Alexander offered his brother a handkerchief to wipe his tears. Andrys accepted, an open smile gracing his lips for the first time I had known him. He took hold of Alexander's left hand again before bringing himself to speak. "You flatter me. I assure you, I am no magician." 

"How could you do this, otherwise? Capture souls in raw stone?" 

"I do not capture souls, Demian. I merely discover the essence and give it form." He suddenly sighed, "It is the hardest thing, you know. To realize what a block of marble says to me and not butcher it into a rude and shapeless statue like those you can find everywhere these days. Oh yes, I have seen all those in this castle. I was tempted to have one of my own placed among them, and hear about their reactions. But I fear people are not ready for the art of a mad prince." 

"Would you stop calling yourself that?" his brother admonished him, though on the softest tone possible. "You are not mad and you damn well know it! You are merely... different. And they cannot understand." 

Andrys nodded his assent, his mind absent from the room for a moment before his grip visibly tightened on Alexander's hand. But whatever it was, he chased it away. "Thank you for bringing him, Alex," he told his brother. He reached out and hugged him tightly, then released him and turned to me. 

"I have a favour to ask of you. Please do not think this the wish of a spoiled prince, but rather an honest request to a..." He seemed to search for the right word, and spoke it hesitantly, "... to a friend." 

It was a blow to both me and Alexander; it was clear the Iiliani prince had not expected this from his lonely brother. But I managed to recover fast enough to promise, "Anything! Anything you wish, Prince Andrys!" 

"I admit I have a problem when it comes to having faith in people. But I was wondering if you would be willing... willing to be the model for my next sculpture." 

"Your Grace, I do not know if..." 

A slender hand came out to placate my words. "I do not expect an answer now. I know I caught you unprepared. But think about it," Andrys insisted. "If you decide you want to, come back here tomorrow morning. I shall leave orders with Francis to let you in." 

I had instruction with my unit the following morning, but it seemed wrong to disappoint the prince. "I'll consider it," I assured him. 

* * *

The visit ended shortly after that. I spent the rest of the day in some sort of daze, Andrys' words coming back to me when I least expected it. I had been called a friend. But why? When had that happened, and how? 

Alexander had left to take care of some business as soon as he had accompanied me back to my room. He had seemed very distressed, and for all the right reasons. But he came by to see me sometime near dusk. 

"I have spoken to my father. He has given his consent." 

"Consent? For what?" 

The prince grinned. "For you to go pose for that statue tomorrow." 

"But I never said I would!" 

"Please, Demian, do not deny him this small favour. It would shatter the trust he has put in you." 

It was clearly not the king he was speaking about. "Why did your brother choose me, Alexander? Why did he say those strange things to me? Why has he called me a friend? He is your brother, you must know him; what is he planning?" 

The Iiliani shook his head. "I have no idea. Even to me, he is such a closed book. The only thing I can say is that he trusts you. Even if only a little, he does. Do you know how long it has been since he felt that way, towards anyone? I watched him close himself in his rooms year after year, allowing us to visit him so rarely. And now this! He is so fragile... Please, if not for him then do it for me. We have shared so much, Demian. Promise me you will do this." 

I had to take a hard decision. It was either accepting the offer, or refusing and offending everybody. But if I said yes and things would go wrong, what would happen then? 

Finally, I settled on going. 

"Very well. Under one condition. I want to know exactly what happened to your brother eight years ago." I watched the prince's face go blank, but I was not willing to give up. "You cannot refuse me this knowledge, Alexander. Not when so much is at stake and one wrong step might mean my death warrant. I promise I will not tell anybody, but I _have to know_. Do you understand?" 

Alexander's hands trembled as he began to speak. "As you probably heard, we were returning to Moreea from a trip across the country. We had made camp, and Andrys and I were taking a ride in the hills when we were attacked. They wanted to kill us both; but my brother somehow managed to hold them off long enough for me to get away. By the time I reached our camp and the guards went to rescue him, the bandits had already fled. They had left Andrys for dead, so badly damaged... But they were stupid enough to tell him who they were working for before they did it; it was to be their doom." 

My skin crawled. I had a pretty good image of what must have happened. "You mean they raped him?" 

"Oh, rape is a mild word for what they did. For months, we though he would die. Father had to name me heir; it was for the best, Andrys said after he more or less recovered, for he would not be able to rule. He barely let anyone closer than a few steps; he had horrible nightmares. Francis is the officer who found him and took him back to camp; he became his personal servant and bodyguard. It was hard for Andrys to accept this, but he finally allowed it." 

"You love him greatly." 

"I would die for him. He has always taken care of me after our mother's death; now I am the one taking care of him. Did you know I actually practice swordfight and archery with him from time to time? Though one wouldn't say at first sight, he would make a fine warrior." He smiled sadly. "Andrys is content with what he has now; I have not seen him this happy in a long time. And that he is willing to accept you without any coercing from me or our father is a miracle in itself." 

"Perhaps he is finally beginning to heal." 

Alexander sighed. "I pray that you are right, my friend. I prey that you are right." 

I mourned with him for the loss. Perhaps the older prince would have been better off dead, than having to go through this. But I could not tell Alexander that. I now understood the devotion my friend felt for his brother, and why Andrys hung to him the way he did. The roles had reversed, and it was the warrior's turn to protect his frail sibling. 

* * *

The guard - Francis - put it quite plainly that he was not comfortable with this whole affair and my presence there, but said he was willing to tolerate this breach in the daily routine out of love for Prince Andrys. He also saw it fit to warn me that, if I so much as laid a finger on his master, he would have the king order me executed. I believed him, since King Thalos could be very severe when it came to his older son's safety. My royal blood meant nothing in such a situation, and besides I was an exile. So I promised the insistent man I would not even dream of harming the prince, and allowed myself to be pushed roughly through a hidden door connecting the gallery to Prince Andrys' 'studio', a suite of two rooms and probably a bathing chamber that occupied half of the small pavilion. I was rather surprised to see that Francis did not follow me in, but I had no doubt he would stand watch right outside the door, in case his liege would need him. One thing I knew: whatever understanding had been reached regarding the prince's security, my presence here was most definitely not part of it. 

The room I had entered was surprisingly empty, the only furniture that could be seen a set of double shelves fixed at acceptable height on two walls, filled with a sculptor's tools, large pieces of parchment, and a various other objects whose use I could not determine. The white drapes guarding the windows had been pulled back to allow the light in. A sheet-covered block had been placed in the middle of the room, no doubt the material for the future sculpture. About two dozen large pillows lay scattered on the floor a little further to its right. 

There were no doors separating this room from the next, and through the opening I caught glimpses of expensive furniture, a surprising honey-brown against the whiteness of it all. 

But I was not there to explore, was I? And I had come with the intention of making my visit as short as possible - being alone with the prince would be a bit more than my nerves could handle. I would be tempted to hold him, cover his face with kisses... and have my head adorn the executioner's block first thing in the morning! 

"Your Grace?" I called out to let him know I had arrived. 

Hurried footsteps had me turn to their source as Prince Andrys practically burst into the room. I hid my smile as best as I could; it seemed I was not the only one in a hurry that day. For a moment I nearly forgot about his phobia, but as he stopped abruptly just past the threshold, eyes widening and body freezing into place, I was brought back to reality; I also realized why I had been asked to bring no weapons. 

I straightened and gave him an encouraging smile, wanting to let him know I meant no harm. To my surprise, he was not wearing any of his usual attire, but loose shirt and trousers of a light cream colour. He was also barefoot. I found him delicious in his innocence, a deer caught in the hunter's gaze. 

"Good morning, Your Grace. I trust you slept well." 

My words triggered off a response in him; he brushed his hands on the front of his shirt, a gesture I attributed to a sudden attack of panic. The sudden interest I had taken in his appearance did not seem to escape him either. He practically forced himself to speak. 

"Andrys," he said. 

"Pardon?" 

"My name - you can use my name. Please, would you mind waiting... only for a few minutes. I - I have to... get ready..." 

I tried to ignore the sudden wave of protectiveness that rose in my heart, having no idea where it had come from. "Why certainly, _Andrys_." 

He nodded and I saw his hand shaking as he pointed to the pile of cushions on the floor. I refrained from giving any sign I had noticed, but he must have known. I was never good at hiding my emotions. 

While I was making myself comfortable, he disappeared into his bedchamber to return about five minutes later, this time wearing a pair of light slippers and having tied his hair back with a ribbon. I noticed this made him look more his age, although I still had problems remembering he was actually older than his brother and I. He also carried a fruit-piled tray, which he placed on the floor before sitting down, as far away as he could possibly manage, even if it was only two or three feet separating us. He then pushed the tray toward me with two fingers, all the time keeping his eyes on my face to anticipate any movement. 

Remembering Alexander's warnings from the night before, I waited for him to withdraw his hand before I reached out to accept an apple. "Thank you." 

He tilted his head and studied me as I had studied him earlier. I began to feel uneasy under those ice-blue eyes, although I could practically feel the fear he was trying to bring under control. The corners of his mouth went up a little, before he spoke again. 

"Did Alex tell you what you are supposed to do?" 

"No, not really. Although he did give me a lecture on behaviour," I couldn't help adding. 

This seemed to relax him a bit. "Oh. I see. Very well..." he sighed. "I shall require your presence for a few hours. Today only, for now. I do not wish to disturb you more than necessary." 

I raised a brow - when my father had insisted I had my portrait taken, I had been forced to sit for endless hours each day while the artist worked. 

"I do not understand," I confessed. "Am I not supposed to model for your sculpture?" 

"You are. However, I find it much easier to use sketches. I shall only require your presence again later on, to check proportions and details. I prefer to work... alone." The self-irony did not escape me; also the fact that he was apparently more comfortable discussing on a neutral topic, like his art. 

"I see. And what am I supposed to pose as?" 

This time I was graced with his distinct half-smile. "I though I could try and capture your conflicting emotions." 

This left me to stare at him open-mouthed. Conflicting emotions? 

"Grief, sadness for your loss and wish for revenge. Sense of duty and friendship. Desire for comfort and happiness, for acceptance and love. The mask you hide them behind. You shall be an actor, Demian. _My_ actor." 

I had never believed anyone could see in my soul like this. Not even Alexander had ever managed to put these things into words. And they had been said in a tone of confidence that left no room for discussion. From the vantage point his self-imposed seclusion offered, Andrys had seen what others had missed. 

I tried a blank face. "It doesn't sound too bad. Alright, an actor then." 

* * *

"Rid yourself of your tunic." 

I quirked my brows behind Andrys' back, wondering what exactly he had meant by that. He did not notice, busy walking back to his private room. He returned shortly, carrying something in his hand. As I was still dressed and staring at him in a rather disturbing manner, he looked down rather than meet my eyes. 

"What do you mean, rid myself of my tunic?" I asked. I knew one meaning he had not given his words; it was the one I would have wished he had intended. Still, asking me to divest my clothing was rather unexpected. 

Finally he decided to look up, a bit flustered. "I did not mean to be so blunt," he apologized. "But your tunic is not suited for an actor. For a warrior yes, but not an actor." 

"I am a warrior," I reminded him. 

He nodded in agreement. "Choose a position you are comfortable in for a long time, Demian. And kindly remove your tunic." It sounded more like an order than a request, but I shrugged and obeyed. I was there to be his model, after all. 

While I fumbled with the buttons holding up my tunic, Andrys busied himself getting his sketchbook and coals from the shelves in the room. A discrete glance let me know his back was turned to me and he wasn't stealing any glances over his shoulder. Not that I would have expected him to do that, either. But I suppose my heart just wouldn't give up. 

I took off the garment and my gloves and sat cross-legged on my pillow, resting my hands on my crossed ankles. It was a position I frequently used for meditation and I knew I'd be able to stay in it for about three quarters of an hour before my legs started getting cramped. It was also common enough for 'an actor'. What in all heavens had possessed Andrys to pick that particular image of me?! 

Oddly enough, though, he seemed very resolute when it came to his work. Soft spoken, yes; but something in his voice hinted at command. I wished I would have known what he had been like before his 'accident'. I had the nagging feeling he would have made a much better leader than his brother, though I had no clues to base my assumptions on. Well, one could only think about all the alternatives. I resolved to do that while he would be sketching me. 

The cling of something hard hitting the floor rang in my ears and I looked in the direction it had come from. The blond prince was literally staring at me, sketchbook, coals and a metal mask at his feet. He was clutching his hands about himself and his breath came out fast. 

Alarmed, I made to stand up. What the hell had happened anyway? I was about to take a step in Andrys' direction but as his eyes snapped shot and he shuddered I realized I was the reason for his distress. 

It hurt to see him like that; it hurt even more that he would see me as a threat. 

"I shall leave now, Your Grace," I said loud enough for my words to get to him, and made an attempt to recover my clothing. 

I was already half-bent when his harsh whisper reached me. "Stay." 

I straightened again and looked back at him. His eyes were still closed but I could technically see him try to regain control of himself. He breathed regularly now, and under my very eyes he bent his knees and felt around the floor, recovering the objects he had dropped. He rose graciously and took a deep breath before finally looking at me again. 

"I am sorry if I scared you," he said, his voice now back to what it had been like when I had first arrived. "I should have warned you. I occasionally get these sudden attacks of panic. There's nothing to concern yourself with. Please, sit back down." 

I disagreed - it was definitely something I _would_ concern myself with. It said quite a lot about the damage that had been done to him, to have such a reaction after eight years had passed. Or perhaps he hadn't had anyone to help him heal properly. 

I was faced with a great dilemma. If I left then, then he would most likely be offended and lose the trust he had placed in me just a few moments before. And if I stayed, then I would be tempted to try and help him the best I could. Which would naturally require me to see him again, and convince him to build a bond between us, based on mutual trust and understanding. Naturally, my desire would influence me, and I was not certain I could carry out the second alternative without finally confessing what I felt. 

I sighed and reassumed my earlier position. It had taken him great courage to ask me to be there, and he had called me his friend. A real friend wouldn't deny him when he needed all the support he could get. 

I tried to keep my tone neutral and my mind on a neutral topic. "Is this position suitable?" 

He merely nodded as he approached and offered me the mask he had been carrying. "Please hold this in one hand." Then he sat down in front of me, though a bit further than before, opening his sketchbook and preparing to draw me. "If you get cramped please let me know," he said as an afterthought, right before starting to sketch furiously. 

For a while, I managed to keep my focus, but my control seemed to be slipping little by little as his hand moved over the paper with ease, faster and faster as he became enraptured in the task he was performing. I forced my eyes away from him and fixed them on the mask he had given me. It was made of metal, and would provide me with some distraction... I hoped. 

Sadly, it was not one of the ornate masks actors normally used, but a featureless figure of polished steel with slits for the eyes, nose and mouth. No ribbons hanging from the sides, no teasing grin captured in metal. I asked myself why he would ever choose such a plain thing, he who should place beauty and complexity above all else. I decided to ask him if I ever got the chance. 

The rustling of material made me look up only to find Andrys sitting back down on another pile of pillows to my right. There was something odd in his movements though - he was acting like he was caught in some sort of trance. He resumed his sketching wordlessly, and with the same graceful fury. I had to close my eyes lest the sight of him enrapture me completely. I tried to think of anything not related to him in any way. Go over battle tactics, the last book I had read, _anything_ that had nothing to do with the surreal creature I was in a room with. Still the noise of coal on paper managed to rhythmically penetrate my self-imposed reverie. It managed to break through even my strictest meditation trance. 

In an hour and a half, the Iiliani prince made sketches of me from at least five angles. When he finally snapped out of it and apologized for having forced me to stay in the same position for so long, my back and my legs were stiffer than ever. But I didn't regret it one bit, for Andrys was smiling again and a pleasant heat spread through me. 

* * *

That day was followed by three weeks of painful silence. Alexander reassured me it was nothing out of the ordinary and that his brother _would_ eventually ask me to go see him again... but the waiting made me anxious and this showed at the oddest moments. I noticed suspicious looks on the faces of the men under my command, and Justine and Franco kept telling me I needed a vacation. Alexander, being himself, insisted that I got laid, good and fast. 

Oh, had they known the truth! All I wanted was to see Andrys. Even the awkward silence and constant pressure of not doing, not saying anything improper was better than the complete absence of his presence. I wanted to show him that he could trust me, confide in me. I wanted him to be my golden prince, he who could bring stone to life with his touch and me to my knees with one look. 

My wait was finally rewarded on a gloomy spring morning. Heavy rain clouds threatened to spill over the city, but I had taken a short ride anyway. The plan for the day was to meet Alexander and visit a few people in the city, but I wasn't looking forward to it on account of the weather. 

Andrys' guard was waiting for me at the stable doors. "Come with me," he said in a dry voice. 

I grabbed the first page that crossed our way and sent Alexander word I would be unable to meet him that day, and that I would tell him the reason in person. 

My escort was silent as he led me to Andrys' rooms, giving me the same disdainful look he had on my previous visit as he showed me into the studio. I tried to control my grinning and not laugh at his ridiculous behaviour. I suppose angering him with my presence was a small victory in my dashing young mind. 

Candles had been lit in the room, compensating for the lack of natural light and forming a circle around the statue. The block of marble's shape had changed considerably, but I could only distinguish the back of the statue from where I stood. I also heard noises coming from its other side, and supposed that Andrys was busy working. I came close to creeping nearer and surprise him, but I gave up the foolish plan and made my presence known by more conventional means. 

I had to call him three or four times before all sound ceased and a blond head popped up at my irked and impatient "Your Grace". It was obvious he didn't like being called that, but it was also the only thing that had always got his attention thus far. 

I bowed deeply in a perfect mockery of the reverence given to the King of Iilis. "A good day to you, Andrys." I beamed at him, and the returned smile seemed to come more freely on his lips than it had the last time. 

"You seem in a good mood. Why?" 

"Oh, it's a beautiful day! It was nearly raining before but the sun just blinded me with his rays." 

Andrys gasped and cast a quick glance at the window; a small storm was brewing outside, and the sky was dark. It did not matter - to me, he shone much brighter than the real thing. His small frown at my words did not go unnoticed, but even that didn't manage to placate my enthusiasm. Andrys had probably understood what I was hinting at. 

"You are a strange man, Demian," he said presently, finally emerging from behind his future work of art. He was dressed in an outfit similar to the one he had worn on my previous visit, but this time his hair was braided and there were traces of a faint white dust on his clothing. 

"I will be working on details of your face today," he continued. "I need you to sit over there, and keep your facial expression... normal. Whatever that is for you." 

I took the indicated place, which was closer to the statue and a little to the right, but did not offer a good angle of watching him work. It was a bit disappointing, but I shrugged it off and thought of letting him do what he wanted. 

Working on details was a work Andrys took most seriously. At first, his warnings for me to stop changing my expression were almost shy, but as he submerged himself in his work they occasionally - and unconsciously - started to sound more like orders. I could almost imagine him in my current position, trying to oversee the training of an army that was supposed to be the best. 

My broad smile as I imagined him wearing a general's uniform similar to his brother's brought me another reprimanding as he kept working, almost furiously. Two hours passed like nothing, and thankfully I wasn't sitting in the position I had posed in, for I certainly wouldn't have been able to get up afterwards. But he had mercy on me and didn't put me through that until our fourth meeting, later that month. 

When he was finally done, he put his tools away and whipped his hands on a cloth before his gaze returned on me - for the hundredth time that day, but this time not as unfocused as it had been while he had worked. "That was all," he said softly. "Thank you for coming, and forgive me if I disturbed your arrangements for the day." 

"That's alright," I told him while thinking to myself, 'Your brother will have my skin, but I honestly don't mind.' I stretched my legs in front of me, still not being able to see anything, not even the changes he had made that very day. It was irritating. "Can I see it?" 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"The statue. Can I see it?" 

Andrys cringed. "Out of the question! You can't see it until it's finished!" 

I did my best attempt at a pout. Considering that I really did feel like pouting, it must have come out rather nicely. "Not even a little sneak peek, if I ask you nicely?" 

He shook his head and drew the canvas cover over it. "Not until it's done. It is my custom, you see." 

"Alright. Can I come see you work again, then?" 

This time he seemed aghast. " _No_!" 

"Why not?" I inquired. "And this time it can't be your custom, because I've already seen you working twice." He did not answer, so I pushed a little. "Does my presence displease you? Because if it is so, then I promise I will stop coming." 

He went pale. "NO!" he cried out. Immediately, Francis' face appeared from behind the cracked door, glancing at us, or rather at me, intently. Andrys, having his back to the door, did not notice him and, getting himself under control again, he continued in an even voice. "No, your presence does not displease me." 

"Then let me come and watch you while you work. I promise I won't bother you, I won't try to look at the statue before it's finished, and I'll be nice to your bodyguard. And if you need me for details again, you won't have to call me here." It sounded like a reasonable deal. 

We finally came to an understanding. I would come to visit him each seventh day of the week, and keep him company for a couple of hours. He would be working for most of that time, and I wouldn't disturb him. Nor was I to come any other time unless I was summoned. It was not a very fair deal if you asked me, but at least it was something settled and I didn't have to worry at no end about when I would see him next. And I still had the occasional glimpses of him spying on Court activities every now and then, although I'm not sure he knew I was aware of it. 

* * *

Over the following seven weeks, Andrys managed to accomplish the impossible and finish the statue. Each weekend, I would come and watch the miracle was being born. And most of those times, I could actually _see_ the blond at work, especially when he was working on the hair and clothing. I would watch his fingers running deftly over the cold stone, shaping it according to his will and finally giving it a polished aspect. Watching him truly was amazing, and it only served to pull me closer into his web of unconscious seduction. I didn't know if he had any idea of what he did to me, but I wouldn't have traded places with anyone for those few hours spent in his silent company. 

And there was of course Francis, who seemed to grow more annoyed with me every week, especially since Andrys had started asking me to stay for lunch. 

In the last two weeks, he even touched me. At first, I didn't know what he wanted when he stopped in front of me with an intent look on his face. Then the miracle happened. His hands rose, palms up, and his fingertips touched my face. It was like a faint breeze, and fleeting at best, but at the same time real. Not my imagination this time, but Andrys really touching me. One week it was my face, the other my hands; there couldn't be any mistake in the finer details, he told me apologetically. I assured him it was not a problem for me, not at all. He truly had no reason to feel guilty about it, because I enjoyed it tremendously - that I didn't tell him, but I had the inner feeling he somehow knew it. Perhaps my eyes had told him that while my lips couldn't. 

But it was truly during my last sitting that I became convinced I was taking the right path toward gaining his friendship and trust, if nothing more. I remember the day distinctively because it was the first time I went to see Andrys while upset. It was also the first time those fleeting touches became less fearful and more reassuring. 

I had argued with both King Thalos and Alexander, and had been stubborn enough to defend my position at all costs. In my mind, I was right and everyone else was either wrong or they couldn't see I was right. I had managed to irritate even the king, who was normally a patient man and was always trying to find the middle road; he had finally declared the meeting over and left, no doubt to find consolation in Lady Eloise's arms. Alexander and I continued the discussion and ended up having a flaming argument, which left my friend upset in the throne hall while I took a stroll on the palace grounds. I'd been pacing in the palace hallways for a good while when I realized what time it was and that I was more than a little late at my weekly appointment with Andrys. 

Terrified at that notion, I made a dash for his rooms, arriving out of breath and a little dishevelled. He was, of course, at work by that time, and acknowledged me with a quick glance before returning his attention on the statue. The damned statue which I envied because it got my fair prince's constant attention. Never mind that it was an inanimate object - I could have just as well envied the chisels Andrys used. 

It was about twenty minutes of brooding while trying to maintain a still countenance later when he finally reacted to my mood. It was in fact a minor shock to see him put down his tools, take a deep breath, and turn berating eyes on me. 

"This simply won't work," he declared. "You are not yourself today." 

I snapped at him, "Don't patronize me! You are the last person in the world entitled to give me a sermon." 

His shocked expression made me realize what I had just said, and the tone which I had used, one that would surely not endear me in his eyes. I quickly stammered an apology, all the more heartfelt since I truly didn't want to ruin what little progress I had achieved with him thus far. I wasn't sure it worked, though; for he took a moment to compose himself, grabbed a recently finished marble shoulder to pull himself up, and covered the statue with the sheet. Blue eyes turned on me; I gulped at the determination I could see in his demeanour and prepared myself to be kicked out of the room any second now. 

He surprised me by picking up a few stray pillows, dumping them right in front of me and lowering himself on them with the natural elegance that seemed to be his second nature. 

"I do not know who or what upset you today, Demian, but it surely wasn't me. So if you are going to keep using _that_ tone with me you'd better leave now." 

"N-no. I mean, you're right. I didn't want to..." 

The right words just wouldn't come, but it turned out they were not necessary. He simply nodded and casually placed a hand on my arm. "Tell me what happened," he whispered encouragingly. 

They were just four words, but what prompted me to speak was his hand, solid and not leaving me, and his pleading eyes. So I told him all about my earlier argument with his family, and that I didn't agree with having his brother in charge of the army, and that I was terrified by the idea of having my people fight against each other. And that I had probably ruined my friendship with Alexander after yelling at him the way I had. 

I knew he understood exactly what was at stake. I was sure that many of the people I knew would have called me insane for asking advice on the matter from a sculptor. But then again, he wasn't just a simple sculptor; and for 16 years he'd been bred to be a king. _He understood_ ; his awareness was written on his face as he listened to my words. He pondered them for a while, not letting go of me. I dared pick up his hand in mine, and did not meet any resistance. There was a bandage wrapped around his palm, and I couldn't help asking myself how he had hurt himself. I was about to ask when he looked up and smiled a little. 

"Demian, tell me what your primary goals in this war are." 

"Well... Revenging my family's death and freeing my country." 

"In this particular order?" 

"What do you mean?" I asked, caressing his hand with my fingers. 

He sighed. "Before my grandfather died, he told me something very important. I was only 6 years old, but as I grew up I realized the truth those words held. Do you know what he told me?  He said that a good leader, be it the ruler of a country or the general of an army, has to always place the welfare of the people that serve under him before his own. _Always_. Do you understand what I am saying?" 

"Yes, but what has this to do with me?" I asked, a bit confused at what he was trying to explain to me. It was natural to want the welfare of my people; they were, after all, those who supported me. 

"This war is not about revenge, Demian. It's not about avenging your family's death first and only then freeing your country. My father and my brother know this. I assume that father asked Alexander to lead the army and not you because Alex is not personally involved in the whole issue. You, on the other hand, might forget what the primary goal is and follow your desire for justice. And that is hardly wise." 

For the second time in my life I felt humbled in his presence. Stupid me, to think King Thalos would betray me at the last moment! Stupid, to think that Alexander wanted the glory of freeing Callas for himself! All they were trying to do was protect my best interests. 

And Andrys had seen it. Andrys knew them, and now he knew me as well - even if he didn't show it too often. I was awed by the complexity of his thinking, at the soul that hid underneath the guise of a shy beauty that brought stone to life with his touch. And I wanted to release his soul from its prison more than ever before. This Andrys, not the one that hid in the shadows but the prince whose council should be obeyed; ah, this Andrys had to be magnificent indeed! 

"Thank you," I told him. "I understand now. Perhaps it's better if your brother leads the army after all." 

"You will of course apologize and offer to make amends." It was a statement, not a request. 

"As soon as I leave here. Can we continue with the sculpture now? I think I can act normal again." 

He shook his head. "We're done for today. I don't think I can concentrate on the stature right now, and you have almost managed to crush my right hand anyway." 

I instinctively released his hand, but he was smiling broadly now. Had he just made a joke? That is, I hoped it was a joke... 

He cradled said hand to his chest, looking at me through lowered lashes. "Come see me in three days," he asked shyly. "It will be ready by then." 

Ready? Oh, the statue. "Am I being dismissed early, then?" 

"Yes. Alex tends to brood worse than you do, so the sooner you two are on friendly terms again the better. And kindly tell him to come see me later today." 

"Alright then. Will you walk me to the door? Francis doesn't give me the evil eye when you're around." 

He seemed puzzled. "Really? I thought he didn't care if I was there or not when showing his disapproval of your presence." But he came with me anyway, and we found the gallery surprisingly Francis-free. Andrys concluded he'd gone to bring him lunch, and pouted when I said I wouldn't mind if his bodyguard would do that more often. 

But the pout was so pretty that I couldn't help picking up his hand again and cradling it in both of mine, and say in my native language, "Djei elrai, leirei." 

"Perten, lea desi um," he murmured, hiding his face behind platinum bangs; the first true reaction to any of my compliments. 

I should have expected it, I suppose. Alexander spoke perfect Callan, and so did King Thalos - it was _obvious_ Andrys would speak it as well, although his accent was a bit thicker than his brother's. 

"Why shouldn't I say it? It is true. You _are_ beautiful," I repeated in Iiliani, to make sure he understood I was serious. "No matter how hard you protest, I will still find you irresistible." 

He was about to reply when we heard footsteps approaching. 'Damn Francis and his awful timing,' I cursed in my mind as Andrys startled and pulled his hand back. 

"I'll go speak to your brother now," I said, trying to save him from whatever form of embarrassment he might have started feeling. "And I'll see you in three days' time, as you asked." 

Alright, maybe Francis' timing wasn't that bad after all. He heard every single word of that last sentence. One extra point for me in our little contest. 

I blew Andrys a kiss and left, trying hard not to snigger and hoping the noise I heard was indeed the bodyguard dropping the food tray he had been carrying. 

\------------ 

_Djei elrai, leirei_ \- You are beautiful, beloved 

_Perten, lea desi um_ \- My friend, do not say that 

* * *

And there I was three days later, waiting impatiently for Andrys to show up. I'd come rather late and he had been taking a walk in the garden, but thankfully he'd had Francis wait in his rooms for me to show up. Now the bodyguard had gone to fetch him and I was pacing in the gallery waiting for him. 

The door burst open and he came in, a little flushed and catching his breath. 

"Have you been running?" I pretended to admonish him, earning myself a giggle. Next thing I knew, I was dragged into the studio. 

"I always show the statue to the model first. If you are not happy with the result, please say so. Now, come stay here." 

I went to stand next to him, facing the result of Andrys' struggles for the past two months. I had to admit, I was a little disappointed that the statue was finished, for now I had no reason to come visit him as often as I had. But perhaps, if I asked him, he would agree to keep receiving my visits... Oh well, I was probably more nervous than he when he grasped a corner of the plain sheet and pulled it to reveal the finished sculpture, white and majestic in the warm sunlight. 

My breath caught. I had known this would be a magnificent work, but nothing could have prepared me to stare at my marble self looking back at me. 

Suddenly, I felt trembling fingers making their way into my right palm and grasping my hand. I turned to find Andrys looking at me, his eyes pleading for me to say something. 

"Breathtaking. I knew it would be perfect, but I never quite imagined it to be _this_ magnificent." I flashed him my cockiest smile, knowing he always blushed when compliments were offered. 

He did not disappoint me. His pale face turned a pretty pink and he lowered his head to hide it behind a platinum fall. "I hoped you would like it, Demian. It is truly one of my best works yet, especially since..." 

My left arm rose of its own accord and lifted his chin, brushed the loose strands from his face, cupped his cheek gently. My right tightened its hold on his hand and lifted it to my lips, and I placed a chaste kiss on his knuckles. Our eyes locked, and I could feel the pressure gathering around us. 

I stepped closer to him, so close our bodies nearly touched. "Since?" 

I felt something crumble inside Andrys as he abruptly looked away. His hand left mine quickly, only to stop in the motion of being lowered. It was lifted again, and it went underneath my arm and onto my shoulder, as his other coiled around my waist and I found my arms full of a pliant golden prince. He fitted well into my embrace, so well that I knew he was made to be there. My chin rested in a nest of silken hair, and I thought I heard our hearts beat like one. 

After a while I lifted his face again, wanting to cover his mouth with mine. But his fingers, his deft and talented fingers, placated my eagerness. "Not yet," he whispered. "Please. This comes too soon, too sudden..." 

I nodded and held him a little longer, inhaling his sweet smell as his head leaned on my shoulder, eyes closed. I knew he was thinking, but I could not say what about. I caught myself wishing he would not be so shy. 

But no, he was not truly shy. Scarred by others and shunning physical contact for a long time, trying to find the courage to escape his self-made prison; but not shy. That he had chosen to come closer to me, even after I must have scared him to death on our first meeting, was in itself proof to that. He had perhaps more courage than many, to overcome his fears and demons like he had. And it did not seem fair to force him to do something he was not ready for. Better let him settle the pace, to find his own courage to approach me. 

Yes, it was definitely the best thing to do. 

I wondered if anyone knew about the special relationship that bound us. Alexander did not; he would have said something otherwise. Most likely the king didn't either, or he would have probably banned me from Andrys' presence for life. As for Francis, Andrys' loyal guard, I had seen him looking at us when Andrys had been caught in one of his spells, thinking I would not notice. 

Did it matter? It should have, but not to much. This was Andrys' decision, after all; who were all the others, to question him? Why would they deny him some happiness, after all his years of pain and loneliness? 

* * *

The day that would have been my sister's birthday found me unable to concentrate on anything. The time of my departure from Moreea was approaching fast; as a matter of fact, Alexander was away inspecting troops that week and King Thalos was spending more and more time keeping council. Still, seeing I was present only physically, he relented and gave me that afternoon off, with an order to settle my thoughts until our next meeting. But as Franco and Justine kept giving me these odd looks and I could hardly bear anybody's company, I found that a visit to the Inner Garden was the perfect way to spend the afternoon. After all, nobody would disturb me there. 

I knew I should have asked the king's permission to go there, but he had given me the order to find some peace of mind and that was the only place I could think of. The rose bushes were in full bloom, and I delighted in their sweet aroma. My sister had loved roses; ironically, so did Andrys, whom I missed more every day. A pity he had refused to see me - and rather odd, for I had been left with the impression he had welcomed my presence more than he had let me know. 

I retraced my steps from the day I had met the elder Iiliani prince in that very garden, ending up in front of a magnificent bush of white roses. Beautiful flowers compared to human kind - I understood Andrys' reasoning a bit and yet did not fully agree, but I decided that, for one afternoon, the flowers should be just flowers. I removed a perfect bud from the bush to take back with me to my rooms, as a reminder of the day's significance. 

Still, leaving did not seem right, so I kept walking up the path toward the old palm tree in the middle of the garden, not concerning myself that anyone might find me there. If it was a safe haven for Andrys, so it would be for me as well, at least for one summer afternoon. 

As it turned out, fate had brought me there that day. For as I neared the tree I immediately spotted a white-clad form lounging carelessly on the grass underneath it. Andrys, there? I immediately looked around for any trace of his shadow, but there was no sign of anyone nearby. Alone then? 

I approached carefully, not wanting to disturb him. I made sure my footsteps were loud enough to announce my presence, not daring to risk scaring him as I had before. His beauty never failed to amaze me, now even more so as his eyes were closed and his body relaxed. I cold not tell if he was truly asleep, but if he was his rest was a peaceful one. 

It was seeing him there, close enough to touch him, that I realized just how much I had missed him. But I would not inconvenience him with my presence for longer than necessary. All I wanted was to know why he had so suddenly decided he did not want to see me any more and then I would leave him alone, even if it would break my heart. 

Pale lashes fluttered open as I took another step closer, revealing eyes that could easily rival the cloudless sky above. For a moment I though he would blot, but instead he smiled. "Come sit by me, Demian," he said as his eyes closed again. 

Remembering Alexander's request not to bring any weapons around his brother, I unbuckled my sword and laid it on the grass. I had become used to wearing it all the time, but its presence contradicted Andrys' presence so it was discarded without a second thought. He meant so much more to me than a piece of cold steel. 

I sat down as close to him as I dared and couldn't help grinning at the sight of his body stretched before me, one hand supporting his head and the other resting at his side, very close to my own thigh. He still seemed relaxed in my presence, and it bode well. 

"Why did you stop visiting me?" he asked all of a sudden, eyes still closed. 

"I did come," I replied. "On the seventh day of the week, at the usual time. But your bodyguard made it quite clear to me you did not wish to see me any time soon." 

It had been an ugly scene, that day. Francis had simply refused to let me in, claiming that Andrys requested I stop visiting him altogether. I had asked to talk to the prince, to hear him say those words in my face, but Francis' resolution to keep me out of those rooms had been strong. Finally I had given up, deciding I did not need to make a scene and that if Andrys did wish to see me he would send for me. 

Still, I had never been fully convinced he had given those orders, and judging by Andrys' expression, I had the silly idea that the guard had acted on his own. 

He confirmed my suspicions. "Odd. I told Francis you had free access to my quarters." He sighed and shook his head. "I believe my bodyguard is jealous of you, Demian." 

I did not think Andrys would lie to me about something like this. "I see. Well, he never did like me. I still wonder how come he hasn't shown up yet and yell at me to go away." 

"He is at his cousin's wedding and won't be back until tomorrow, I'm afraid. I actually promised him I wouldn't go out on my own, but the day was too beautiful to be spent indoors." Andrys' hand crept closer to me, and I covered it with my own. 

"I do not see you as a threat," he continued, "but I believe Francis does. Just don't let him push you around. He _knows_ he's supposed to let you pass, he's just stubborn and doing what he thinks is best for me. I don't believe he realized I would find out about this. I was planning on asking Alex to bring you for a visit when he got back, you know." 

It was quite endearing to hear him speak those words, to know that he actually did care about me. I was still not sure what had turned the bodyguard against me, though. "Andrys, is Francis in love with you?" it was the craziest, yet most logical explanation I could come up with. 

"That he is. I don't believe he realized I would notice, but I have known him for a long time and he had feelings for me even before I..." He cleared his throat. "... before. He is a dear friend, but... he lacks something." He beamed up at me all of a sudden. "I missed you, Demian. But of course you already know that. You know so little, and yet so much about me." His hand escaped my hold and trailed on the grass for a moment. "Why don't you lie down next to me for a while, eh?" 

It was a very tempting offer, and it must have felt safe for him since he was asking. The grass was soft and his hand slowly snuck back into mine, warm and alive. I gazed at the sky through the tree's canopy, afraid to look and see him disappear in a burst of light. A strange calmness filled me, and I resolved into telling him something I had told his brother once. 

"I do not think you should be kept in a cage, Andrys. And I don't think you should hide from the world either. I know it was your decision, but..." 

"You are right," he interrupted me. "It _was_ my decision. Yet I find that, in these past few months, the cage has been slowly melting away." His hand tightened in mine, and he turned on his side so he could look at me. His freehand touched the rose I had placed on my uniform's lapel. "Nobody is allowed to cut these flowers but me, you know. I sense a weariness in you today, something I have not noticed before. Would sharing what's on your mind help relieve some of your inner pain?" 

I sighed and laughed bitterly. "Perhaps. I came here to think; you see, today would have been my sister's twentieth birthday, and I thought being in this garden would... you know, make me feel closer to her. She was an innocent in all this, you know. She didn't deserve to die so young." 

Surprisingly, Andrys reached out to touch my face, a sad smile playing on his lips. "It is the innocent that make the easiest victims, Demian. But I believe her spirit is happy, wherever it is now. All you can do is uphold her memory, and remember her like she was. Trust me, dwelling on the unfairness of life will only bring forth negative emotions." A self-derisive laugh escaped his lips; I had no doubt he was talking from personal experience. "Shall I tell you something about your sister Arielle that you probably didn't know? She was supposed to marry Alexander one day." 

I nearly jumped. "What?! Andrys, are you sure? My father never mentioned a marital alliance between our countries." 

He nodded. "It's why my brother visited Callas ten years ago. Apparently your father found him a little too... shall we say 'energetic', at the time. Still, he was supposed to visit again this summer. Unfortunately, nobody anticipated Seisha's attack on Callas. And, in a twisted sort of way, I'm glad they didn't." 

"Because I came here?" 

"Yes. We never would have met otherwise. Well, perhaps at the wedding... but I can't tell for sure. Still, I am very sorry about what happened to your family. And I hope you will free your country soon. That way I can come visit you for your coronation." 

"You would always be welcomed at the Minois Court, Andrys," I assured him, though the thought of having him among strangers, even with me there to protect him, was rather disturbing. Iiliani courtiers knew to keep their distance, but Callan ones wouldn't know that. But perhaps, it would no longer be necessary, on the day of my coronation. 'My coronation. Now there's a most positive thought coming from you, Andrys. What happened to dwelling in the dark, thinking only the worse? Did you change that much since we first met?' 

a sudden weight against my side made me snap out of my introspection only to find Andrys' body pressed against mine, his head resting on my shoulder and his right palm on my breast. My first reaction was to freeze into place, but after a few uncomfortable moments his presence there became the most natural thing in the world. I even dared disentangle our fingers so that I could circle his waist as my other hand trailed up his back and I started stroking his hair absentmindedly. 

"I dreamt about holding you in my arms again," I confessed after a while. 

"I am safe here," he answered. "I _know_ you would never harm me - contrary to what appears to be popular belief these days, might I add. When I asked you to pose for that statue, against everybody's better judgement, I did not expect you to have so much influence on me." 

"Was it a good influence?" I did not mention I had fallen in love with him well before his request had come. I was certain he knew how I felt about him, and that to some extent he retuned my affection. I had long ago decided to be content with things as they were, and dared not ask for more. It was tempting, but the best way to handle the situation was to let Andrys decide just how far our relationship would evolve. I would certainly not force him into doing something he did not desire. It was not a bad plan, either - in two and a half months we had come very far from a fleeting smile and utter fear of physical contact. 

A tapping on my chest let me know my thoughts had wondered off again. I apologized and received a little shaking of the blond head on my shoulder. "No need for excuses. I too find my mind travelling to different planes quite often. I was only saying it _was_ a good influence." He sighed. "This is a wonderful afternoon. Why not take advantage of what is left of it and tell me about your sister? I would be happy to remember her as you do." 

Deciding it was a good suggestion and that I would like to have him remember my sister, not to mention spend some more time with him - a thought I rather enjoyed, actually, so why chase away such blind luck? - I started telling him about Arielle, memories both happy and sad surfacing with amazing ease once I allowed them to. 

* * *

What was left of that afternoon, three hours at best, were spent in quiet reminiscence. As the shadows shifted we resorted to sitting against the palm tree's trunk, and much to my pleasure Andrys had let me hold him all this time. It was peaceful, and at the same time a little arousing for me, but the Iiliani prince gave no signs he was uncomfortable so I kept holding him as I spoke softly, and with a hint of detachment from the events I was recounting. Getting involved in these memories was a bad habit; I had learned that in the first few months since my family's death. Andrys was right - honouring their memories was all I could do for them. That, and avenging their deaths, something I had been preparing for the whole time. 

"You know," I said after having told him a particularly funny event that had taken place about three years before, involving a silly duel between five boys that had all been courting Arielle at the time and my father's guards thinking they had been using real weapons and throwing them in prison for one night, much to the dismay of their fathers, "you remind me of my sister right now. You look so sweet and innocent, and you could never harm someone if you tried." 

His head had been resting on my chest, his lips caught in a smile for the past few hours and his eyes closed, not in sleep but because he had been imagining what I was telling him. But now the smile disappeared and he opened his eyes; letting go of me he straightened his back, pulling up one knee and resting a hand on it, gazing in the distance. I started wondering what I had said or done wrong as he asked, "Is that how you see me? Sweet and innocent? Well, Demian, I have news for you. I am neither." 

"Of course you are." I shifted as well, positioning myself behind him and pulling him back against me without thinking, without asking. I only realized I'd done it when he stiffened, but then he sighed and relaxed so I did not have to let go of him after all. "Tell me your sculptures aren't pure. Tell me not to find you endearing every time I look at you." 

"Mine is a selfish art, and I will not explain it to you. As for how you see me, I could tell you a few things about me you might not find pleasing. How much do you know about my past? Or my present, for that matter? How can you possibly love someone who is paranoid, avoids people and would, in your opinion, never make it on his own? Tell me, Demian, how can you do that?" 

I had been expecting this discussion, although not so soon. It was a delicate situation for him - his heart and mind did not agree on the course of action he should take regarding me and my feelings for him. I wished his heart would win, and give us a chance. 

"I don't know _how_ , Andrys. But what is important is that I _do_ love you. I would never let any harm come to you, be it from me or your family or anyone else. There is only one person I wouldn't be able keep from harming you, and that would be yourself." 

He felt silent after hearing this, sagging in my arms. His face was frozen in an expressionless mask, but I knew he was pondering my words and analyzing his own experiences to find the answer. Finally he came back, biting his lip as he blinked a few times before speaking to me. 

"I will tell you something that my alter your perception on things. If you are willing to continue what we have afterwards, I am willing to give it a try. If not, then I would rather you told me now and we remained friends. Agreed?" 

"Agreed." There was nothing he could tell me that would change how I felt. 

"Tell me then, how much do you know about what happened to me?" 

It was my turn to fall silent; but he continued. "I have come to terms with this whole affair long ago. Nothing that you could say about that day can cause me harm any longer. How much do you know?" 

"Well, I probably heard half a dozen rumours and ten times as many discussions on the topic. But before I accepted to model for your statue I asked your brother to tell me everything." 

He drew a deep breath and let it out. "And he told you? _Everything_?" 

"Actually, he insinuated some of it. It was hard for him to breach the subject. Look, if this is about those five bandits raping you," - I couldn't believe what I had just said, but now there was no turning back - "It doesn't matter. Being innocent has nothing to do with being a virgin. It's the soul that matters; and you have a pure, untainted soul hidden under all that sadness and fear. I know you do. Only a blind man could miss it! 

He turned to face me and shook his head. His smile was a sour one. "Tell me, would this ideal of innocence you just described be able to kill someone?" 

I stared at him like a rock had just hit me in the head. "You could never do that," I told him firmly. 

His eyes turned to ice, and his voice came out like I had never heard it before - calm and resolute, matter-of-factly. If I had ever doubted he could have been a king he had just proven me wrong. "There were seven bandits there that day. I killed two of them before they could bring me down." 

The imaginary rock that had hit me turned into a boulder. A big one. 

My disbelief must have been pretty obvious, for his lips tightened. "I have no reason to lie to you, not about something so important. I was trained to defend myself and I did so. It was not murder but self-defence. The truth, Demian, is that I am no innocent. I have killed, and I will do it again if someone tries to harm those I care about. My brother in particular - I have sworn to mother I would take care of him. Nothing serious happened during the past eight years, but if it ever does I would give my life for him. De you understand?" 

I did. "I do." I wondered if he would risk his life for me, but asking something like that would have been outrageous and impolite. 

"And?" 

"It certainly changes a few things, but not my feelings for you. In fact, I was beginning to wonder what was that 'brotherly sacrifice' Iiliani soldiers keep mentioning when your name comes up in conversation. I suppose now I know. So, do I finally get a kiss from you?" I was definitely feeling bold that day. Well, early evening actually; but the time of day served merely as an impulse for the question. 

Andrys' face went back to the sweet, shy expression I had gotten used to. "A kiss? I suppose you deserve it." 

It was a most chaste kiss, though. He pressed his lips to mine and drew back before I had a chance to react. I groaned and tried to grab him, but his eyes clouded and it was enough to make me stop. 

"I feel cheated, but I'll take this much. For tonight. You need some kissing lessons, though. I am not your brother, to be content with this much." 

"What would you have me do, stick my tongue down Alex's throat?" he turned beet red as I looked at him, perplexed. "Oh my, I actually said that. Well, today is the most 'normal' day I have had in years... so I suppose it's alright. I don't need lessons, just a little more time. Can I have that?" 

I nodded. "As much as I have at my disposal. I have to go win my country back, remember?" 

"I... I'll try. I swear I will. But you must come see me as often as you can. That way, I will get used to this whole situation a lot faster." 

"I promise." 

He stood up. "Good. Now you should go. It's nearly dark, and dinner can't be far away. You don't want my father's guards to find you here, alone with me, after sunset. It would be awfully hard to make them believe you weren't doing more than talking to me." 

I laughed. Andrys without inhibitions was hard to imagine, but Andrys trusting me and with _a few_ inhibitions appeared to be the one I had to get used to for the time being. Oh, I was sure he would behave very differently with other people present; but what I saw now must have been the Andrys Alexander was used to. And if he trusted me half as much as he trusted his brother - I liked to think he did - then I would be a very happy man. 

"alright, I'm going. But why don't you come to dinner tonight? I'm sure your father wouldn't complain, and I'll look after you in your brother's place." 

He drew back a step or two, and I cursed myself. I couldn't see his eyes any longer, his light was too dim for that, but I could feel I had screwed up again. 'Too soon, you fool!' I berated myself. 'He needs to get used to being around _you_ first. The whole court would be far too much to ask!' 

"I cannot," he said presently. "if Francis were here, and I would have let my father know beforehand, then perhaps... but I'm not ready to show up alone and unexpected. People would talk. Besides, I'm not sure it would be wise to let my father know about you and me just yet. You need his support to get your throne back. Or, a relationship with me in this could result in a nasty reaction on his behalf. I need to prepare my family before I can tell them... " 

"I understand. So I assume our meeting today never happened?" 

He chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far. Though I must insist that you keep our discussion, from the point where it stopped being about your sister, to yourself." 

"I would never betray you." Still, I had to know. "You never told anyone about those two bandits, did you?" 

"No. Alexander does not remember how many there were, and the two bodies were never found." 

"Then I am honoured you trusted me enough to share this secret." I bowed to him, drawing a chuckle. "I'll go have dinner now. You take care. Do you want me to escort you to your rooms?" 

"No, thank you. I'm used to creeping through the palace halls. Umm... keep on that path," he pointed at his right, "and take the first large corridor left. You should get safely to the dining hall. And don't forget your sword." Another chuckle and he brushed right past me, placing a quick perk on my cheek before I had the chance to reply. 

"Pleasant dreams, Andrys," I murmured after him, picking up my weapon from where it had laid forgotten on the grass and following his directions. They proved to be accurate and I arrived in the dining hall just in time for dinner. My not-so-pristine appearance, ruffled hair, the rose on my lapel and obvious good humour managed to draw a few stares, but I ignored most of them and glared at the more curious courtiers. It was none of their business how I had spent the afternoon, and in whose company. 

* * *

The day after I received a large bouquet of pale pink roses, delivered by a page that kept staring at me like I had grown an extra head. I accepted them, knowing whom they were from even before finding the little note that had come with them. 

What had possessed Andrys to send me flowers, though? Because I was sure it had been Francis who had given them to the page, and he must have wondered about it too. 

I picked up the note, and it provided the answers I was seeking. 

_'I thought you might want something special to commemorate your sister's birthday. I believe these roses would have suited her personality - sweet yet not carrying an overwhelming perfume._

_'Please feel free to stop by any time you like. -Andrys'_

Ah, what a clever prince he was! If I would show Francis that note he would be forced to let me in. At any time I liked, too. It was a most convenient arrangement. 

* * *

I was forced to delay my promised visit, however, for word came that the Seishan army was getting restless at the borders and had attacked a scouting party. King Thalos saw it as a direct provocation and decided to hasten war preparations. I was announced I would be leaving for the border by the end of the week, to oversee the deployment of troops. I would also be in charge of my own squad, formed almost exclusively out of Callan soldiers that had managed to flee to Iilis after the capital fell. As previously decided, Alexander was to follow about three weeks later and take over command. 

But on the night before our departure, my feet traced the way back to Andrys' wing and I found myself standing in front of the imposing door, alone and waiting for something. I knew not what that was. So I opened the door and stepped in. 

The corridor to Andrys' chambers was deserted, as was the small gallery. I wondered where his bodyguard could be hiding, and whether Andrys was still awake at that late hour. I thought he might be. 

Slowly, I pressed the handle of his working room's door, and chanced a glimpse of the place. He was up, all right; there were candles lit in the bedroom beyond. So I knocked at the door and called out softly, "Andrys, can I come in?" 

A loud thump followed by footsteps indicated he had heard me. Soon, his white-wrapped figure came into view, and his eyes searched for me for a moment. We met in the middle of the room, facing each other like we would be at our first meeting. 

He broke the silence. "I expected you to come sooner." 

I felt something in his voice, accusation and anxiousness and fear perhaps. "Andrys, I'm truly sorry. I leave for the front tomorrow morning." 

"Tomorrow morning?" Blond lashes trembled for a moment. "But I thought... Alex said he only leaves in a few weeks!" 

"Yes, he does. I, on the other hand, have to leave tomorrow. That is why I couldn't come - I was busy preparing." 

His hand reached forward to touch the handle of my sword. "I haven't touched a real sword in a long time." He followed the lines of the crest imprinted on the cold metal. "Your father's?" he asked. 

"Yes. You want to hold it? It's not very heavy." 

He giggled, and again I caught a sad undercurrent from him. "Heavy is not the problem. It's the weapon itself. It kills people." He took a breath and looked up at me again. "Use it mercifully, Demian. Do not kill your own people just for obeying orders." 

"I won't," I promised, feeling the pressure building around us. I had to leave now, until I said something, did something. Before my heart registered what was going on and made me act against my mind's commands. 

"Look, I... I just came to say goodbye. I don't know how long this war will go on. I don't even know if we will see each other again. So I wanted you to know that I won't forget you, Andrys." 

So I turned and started going back the way I came, not waiting for an answer. I wanted to be able to tell him, 'Good bye, my love. I will stay alive just to see you again.' But he was not my lover, no! He was not my lover and that was it. 

I would be leaving him behind. I would go to battle without another kiss from those lush lips, without telling him the overwhelming sensations that wrapped my heart every time I was in his presence. 

"Demian." 

A soft call as I turned to see him one last time, surprised to find him just one hand span away, eyes misty as his brow creased even so slightly. I suddenly found myself being drawn into his sparkling blue eyes, into the sadness I saw there. Then I was leaning to touch my lips to his. He could not deny me this, could he? 

Through half-open lids I saw his eyes widen at the contact. But instead of pulling back, he wrapped his right hand around my neck and parted his lips, inviting my intrusion. 

His mouth was sweet, like warm honeyed milk on a cold autumn night. I allowed myself a good taste before releasing him, starting to move away only to have him moan and pull me back to him. 

"Demian..." He whispered my name like a chant. I was drawn into his spell instantly, kissing him again, passionately ravaging his mouth, surprised at his boldness. But who was I to question him, to stop this after craving it for so long? 

One of his hands ended up tangled in my hair, pulling my head down just as he arched up to make up for the difference of height. I had my arms coiled around his waist, our bodies touching in just the right places. I did not plan to let go soon. 

He trembled slightly - and it was not out of fear, this time. He looked at me with a longing I had never seen in him before. "I would have you spend the night here with me," he said gravely. 

My mouth opened but I could not utter a word. I swallowed deeply - had I been _that_ transparent? 

Of course I had, stupid me! I had just kissed him like one would a lover, damnit! 

"Andrys, this is insane," I warned him. "I wouldn't be able to control myself..." 

"I do not want you to control yourself!" he protested. "I trust you, Demian; do you understand? I _trust_ you! And I desire you, also." 

This time, it was he that kissed me. Hard. 

* * *

Before I knew it, I was drawn back into his bedroom and dropped not too ceremoniously atop his bed. He laughed at my startled expression, a crystalline sound that had me shiver with want. "Well, _do_ something!" he coaxed me, keeping his eyes on me as I moved up to stand next to him. 

My breeches felt too tight. 

I raised a hand to release his silky hair and dropped the ribbon that had held it on the floor. I draped the pale fall on his shoulders, kissing a handful of it. Then I moved my lips to kiss his brow and eyelids. My moves got bolder when I saw he was not rejecting them. I ran my tongue up his neck and cheek, taking his earlobe between my teeth and biting just a little. 

He gripped at my shoulders and hissed, but did not ask me to stop. I played with the shell of his ear a little longer, trailing my tongue over it and sucking gently at his ear lobe; I rejoiced to hear a moan escape him, muffled into my shoulder. 

"Ah, my precious," I said as I let go, "have you any idea how much I have wanted this, how often I have dreamt of having you in my arms?" 

He trailed his fingers over my shoulders and my cloak fell at our feet in a rush of fabric. He nodded his pretty head, still smiling. "I know, Demian." A tear slid down his face, glittering in the moonlight. "I was lonely... so lonely until I met you." 

His vulnerability and utter innocence worked miracles on me. Suddenly all I wanted was to hold him, soothe him. I tried to embrace him, but he stopped me by getting hold of my upper arms and looking me in the face. 

"I have done this, once, before... before that day. I still remember it - the glorious heat. Can you bring that back to me?" 

"Anything! I promised you this." 

Suddenly his clothes were in the way. Tunic, inner tunic and shirt were discarded piece by piece, each one revealing more of his gorgeous paleness. He had inherited his mother's looks, the fairness of people from the faraway north. He had always seemed a ray of light blinding me with its gleam. Now his skin was pure moonlight under my fingers, surprisingly warm in the chill of the night. 

Breathtaking beauty. 

I kissed his shoulder as my hand reached for his waist to undo the laces of his silk trousers. It was then when he caught my wrist. I stopped and looked at him hesitantly. Had he changed his mind, in the end? 

But he merely sighed and asked me, "Anything?" My brows shot up questioningly. His lips curled up again. "I want to see you undress. Slowly," he added. 

Not so ingenuous after all, my angel. But it was a common enough request. I watched him sit on the bed while I began unlacing my tunic. He hastily got rid of his slippers, pulled a leg under him, drawing the other to his chest and resting his chin on his knee. 

I moved back a few steps to offer him a full view of my body. I untied the laces one by one, until I reached my waistline. I unclasped the buckle that held my sword belt into place and dropped the weapon, its scabbard and the rest of the harness, the thick rug and my discarded cloak muffling the sound of their impact with the wooden floor. I shrugged the tunic off my shoulders and repeated the process with my waistcoat and shirt. 

I heard Andrys gasp when I pulled the shirt over my head. I beamed up at him, with just a glint of promise for what would come next. He was blushing and I could hear his breath intensify. It could only mean one thing - he liked what he saw. 

Good. 

I managed to take off my boots without losing my balance, and proceeded to undo my breeches. Unlike the Iiliani style, which demanded they be laced on each side, mine tied up in front. Feeling a little playful, I fumbled with the laces. "Damn! They're stuck!" 

Andrys laughed again; he knew what my game was. "Oh, are they now. Then perhaps I should give you a hand?" 

The innuendo did not escape me and I laughed with him. I closed the distance between us, and he leaned forward to take the offending garment off me. He undid the front and his hands stopped on my hips for a moment until he pulled the cloth down, leaving me naked in front of him. 

He stood on his knees and I bent down to meet his lips. I trailed my hands down his chest, lingering a little before I caught hold of his sides and pressed him down on the soft mattress. "Magical prince, what is this spell you weave around me?" 

He giggled, but did not reply. He did not lie there motionless either. He felt the muscles of my arms and back and then kneaded them. "You are strong," he said. "Alex likes his lovers strong - even the women. He likes a good challenge." 

"Yes. But you are not Alexander," I replied. "Why do you always compare yourself to him?" 

He sighed, and ran his hands through my cropped hair. "For eight years, he has been one of my few links with reality. It is only normal. But you are right - I am not him." 

"No, dearest, you are a challenge in your own right. Now, let's get you out of these trousers. I wish to see all of you." 

I made short work of them, and could finally delight my eyes with his whole beauty. I ran my hands over his nicely-proportioned body. He was flushed and warm all over, his flesh eagerly responding to my caresses. My body responded to his presence, too. 

Waiting became difficult. I managed to push my desire back long enough to trail a hand down his navel and below, over blonde nether hair and darkened flesh. Andrys took a deep breath and pushed his hips up into my touch, his hands grabbing at the sheets and my arm. He bit his lip not to groan, which was a pity actually. I wanted to hear him sing. I wanted to see him aflame, inner fire consuming his flesh and mine with it. 

"I'll need something slippery." My voice was deep with want, but I did not want to hurt him and betray his trust. "Oil, salve. Anything similar." 

He stopped thrusting for a moment. His eyes had become a darker blue, his pupils were dilated. I think he was no longer thinking coherently. "Nightstand," he muttered. "Middle drawer." 

I found a jar of liniment, along with herbs, bandages and other medicinal supplies. I remembered his hands being injured from earlier, so I made it my business to study them. The wounds had healed now, only faint traces marking them. Some were much older, and almost faded; the newer ones were a light pink. 

I remembered what I had been about to do. I knew this was not a dream; I was too sober for that, though his presence was intoxicating. So I uncapped the jar and placed it next to us on the bed. "You know what comes next," I warned him. 

He did; he kissed me while pulling me to lie on top of him, rubbing against me. His groan came out full of need. His body had been denied for far too long. I parted his legs and stood up between them. I reached out and coated my fingers with the sweet-smelling salve, then carefully touched my index to his opening, rubbing gently before I pushed it in even so slightly. 

I could feel him startle. He had not been as prepared as he had made me think. But then he relaxed and threw his head back in the pillows. Waiting. 

With his intake of breath I forced my finger in deeper, then stopped to see him relax. I kept this pace, testing him with another finger when he loosened enough. Then another. He was not as tight as I had believed, but I doubted he had not pleasured himself all this time. He was two years older than me, after all, and in spite of his experience he must have sought some pleasure other than his art. 

Still, I took great care with him. I knew it would hurt a little, and so did he. But it did not mean anything. Not anymore. We were about to make love, and we had decided on it together. 

I pulled my fingers out and lubricated myself. He watched me, anxiously absorbing every movement. I positioned myself on top of him, pulling his legs around my waist and supporting my body on my arms. I thrust into him, hesitantly at first, but then faster as he moaned and pushed his body down on me, both of us grasping for breath. 

His warmth enclosed my shaft and spread through my body like liquid fire. I pulled back only to thrust in again. And again. Once more, finally brushing against that pleasure spot inside. He let out a loud groan and in his eyes I saw the flames that began devouring him. I wrapped my hand around his manhood, working him at the same pace with my thrusts. His fingers joined mine briefly, to show me the touches he favoured. He was no virgin, my Iiliani prince, but just as gratifying. Soon we were both burning, our sounds of pleasure filling the room as the spring night and full moon witnessed our union. His flame went out first, consuming him as he spent himself. I followed close behind, inside the heat of his being. 

We held each other then, sated and warm, him safe in my embrace. I would have to leave him soon. I rode out in the morning, perhaps never to return. Never to glance on my brilliant sun again... The grim thought was pushed away quickly. I would come back, because now I had a very good reason to do so. 

* * *

Hurried steps in the silent night made us both startle and look at one another in surprise. Alexander's voice boomed through the bolted corridor reaching even us. "Where is that bastard?!" 

I froze. How had he found out? 

Andrys scrabbled for our clothes, throwing my breeches and shirt at me while he looked for his own garments. "Put these on. Quickly!" 

I managed to get them and my boots on before Alexander burst into the room, Francis close on his heels. Both had their swords drawn. "Come here, traitor, and feel my blade!" the Crown Prince called my way, a murderous look on his face. 

My fingers flexed as I glanced at my own weapon, abandoned on the floor. I would never reach it in time. 

A white fury blocked Alexander's path. Andrys stepped in front of me out of nowhere, his eyes blazing and his voice an ice storm. "How dare you burst in here like this?!" 

Alexander stopped and glanced at him, suddenly uncertain at the sight of his brother drawing closer to me instead of pulling away. "Andrys…?" 

"Get out!" the older prince said, pointing the way they had come. He grunted at their hesitance. " _Out_ , I say! Both of you. Wait for me in the gallery." 

They did leave, provided hesitantly. Andrys' grip on my hand was painfully strong, his lithe frame posed like he was preparing for battle. But when he looked at me, his gaze somewhat softened. "Demian, go back to your rooms and get some rest - you have to leave in the morning, no?" 

"I doubt I'll be going anywhere other than the dungeons," I whispered sullenly. 

His chuckle startled me. How could he laugh at a time like that? 

"Most definitely not," he tried to reassure me. "Get a good night's rest, and let me handle my brother. I'll throw a tantrum if I have to, but neither he nor father will touch you. You must not fret; it's not your fault." 

" _Of course_ it's my fault!" I exclaimed, but he hushed me with another kiss and I savoured it as if it were our last - there were high chances it was. 

"Nonsense. Come now. You have to get out safely, and I'll make sure of it." 

Andrys got me into my clothes and pushed me toward the studio far more swiftly than I would have expected. I saw the dark gazes Alexander and Francis gave me when he led me through the gallery and all the way to the door. Unfortunately, I could not see the ones they exchanged when Andrys kissed me right in front of them bidding me good night. They must have been priceless, however, because he laughed when he turned their way. 

I left for my doom, barely missing Andrys as he asked, "How could you do this to me?" I did not know to whom they were addressed - probably to both men. 

* * *

Despite Andrys' reassurances, I wriggled in my bed all night, expecting the palace guards to burst in at any moment. I was up and ready to leave much earlier than the rest of the officers, and was already pacing angrily in the War Room for half an hour when Alexander finally arrived. Alone. 

I faced him proudly, my chin up and my face expressionless. I would not play the coward. What if he was the Prince of Iilis? I was the Crown Prince of Callas, and of an equally important bloodline! I might have been his guest, but I did not lack my backbone. And honestly, I did not regret the previous night's events. Not one bit. 

There was only the two of us, and I could see he had not slept either. But his reaction was not what I had expected. Instead of coming toward me furiously, he stumbled in a chair, ducked his head and rubbed his temples nervously. When he looked at me, I could see regret in his gaze. 

"Demian, I would like to apologize for last night. It was not my place to judge you." 

I stared ahead, not knowing what to make of this sudden change of heart. I wondered what Andrys had said to bring about such change in his attitude. 

He continued, "You must forgive me. But Francis burst into my rooms saying you were taking advantage of my brother, and I just... snapped. I had no idea he _wanted_ you to make love to him!" 

I cleared my throat. "Yes, well. Frankly, I neither did I. Not until last night that is." 

He stood up and came my way, strangely subdued for the warrior I knew. His brown-green eyes met mine; he truly repented. "I should have never doubted you, or our friendship. Forgive me?" 

He offered his hand, and I took it. "I understand why you did it," I said. "I truly do. You were worried - I would have been, in your place." 

He nodded, and then snickered. "So, did I interrupt something important? He wouldn't say, and it's eating me alive." 

"Good! You deserve this cruel punishment!" I tried to joke. It did not come out quite right. Besides, he was my best friend. "But truly, Andrys is quite startling once you get him to shake off his timidity." 

"He is, isn't he?" Alexander smiled. There were voices in the corridor and heading our way. "But enough of this. You leave in two hours, and there are many things to be done! I only have one more thing to say about this." 

"Yes?" 

"Andrys bids you good journey, and a safe return. He also asked me to give you something on his behalf." And he kissed me. On the mouth. With his tongue. 

He pulled away just in time. I was still gathering my wits as King Thalos and the other generals entered the room, to begin the council of war. 

* * *

**~ The End of Part 1 ~**  


* * *


End file.
